'tis Pride That Pulls The Country Down.

Though Patience Be A Tired Mare, Yet She Will Plod.

What Cannot Be Saved When Fate Takes, Patience Her Injury A Mockery Makes

Have You Not A Moist Eye, A Dry Hand, A Yellow Cheek, A White Beard, A Decreasing Leg, An Increasing Belly? Is Not Your Voice Broken, Your Wind Short, Your Chin Double, Your Wit Single, And Every Part About You Blasted With Antiquity?

For He Was Likely, Had He Been Put On, To Have Proved Most Royally.

Promising Is The Very Air O' Th' Time; It Opens The Eyes Of Expectation. Performance Is Ever Duller For His Act; And, But In The Plainer And Simpler Kind Of People, The Deed Of Saying Is Quite Out Of Use. To Promise Is Most Courtly And Fashionable; Performance Is A Kind Of Will Or Testament Which Argues A Great Sickness In His Judgment That Makes It.